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Authors: Emily Martin

Tags: #Young Adult, #Contemporary, #Romance

The Year We Fell Apart (3 page)

BOOK: The Year We Fell Apart
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“I’m sorry,” I say for probably the millionth time since getting caught back in March.

Mom straightens and crosses over to me. She wraps me in a hug I can’t help but sink into. “I know, sweetie. Me too.” She pulls back and holds my cheeks in her palms. Her eyes search mine as if to reinforce her apology. I nod, and she pats my cheek and drops her hands. “It’s a beautiful day out. Go have fun with Cory.”

  *  *  *  

I push aside a pile of clothes and sprawl out on Cory’s twin bed.

He pauses his video game and spins around in his desk chair, nudging his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Rough night?”

Kicking my leg in his general direction is all the response I can muster.

Light trickles in from the crack in the blackout curtains, keeping his room in a sleepy state. School notebooks he hasn’t recycled are strewn around the floor, and an even bigger pile of dirty clothes is overflowing from his closet. Cory would call it organized chaos, and I have to admit I love the clutter.

Mom would kill me if I let my room get this messy. I get the stink eye from her if I leave more than one glass of water on my nightstand. “Your room is beginning to look a little lived in,” she always says.

But I was there when Cory won the swimming trophies scattered around his desk, and I’ve read most of the books stacked precariously on the shelf above it. His room feels like home.

Sitting up again, I hug his pillow to my chest. “You ready to go?”

“Go . . .” Cory’s dark eyebrows scrunch together for a moment and then he closes his eyes. “Shit, the quarry.”

“You forgot?”

“Yeah . . . and I kind of agreed to help Declan paint his dad’s house. But I can give him a rain check.”

I hug the pillow tighter. “No, that’s okay. I’m totally drained today anyway.”

He adjusts his glasses again. “Well, why don’t you come with me?”

“Pass.”

“See, that’s a huge mistake. Here’s why: It’s going to be a ton of fun. Like, way better than the quarry. There may even be pizza involved, I don’t know.”

“Don’t you try to Tom Sawyer me.” I pull at a loose thread on his pillowcase. “So, how long is he back for this time?”

“Dunno. You guys talk yet?” he asks. I cut him a look and he sighs. “You know, statistically, the odds of you two working things out would improve if you stopped avoiding him.”

“I’m not
avoiding
him.”

Now it’s Cory’s turn to give me a
Yeah, right
look.

Okay, so I may have given Declan a wide berth when he came home from boarding school over Christmas. But it wasn’t easy. And now, two days after finding out about Mom, staying away from him all summer seems so much harder. Of course, I have no reason to expect he would want to see me, either. Not anymore.

“You two have fun painting.” I toss the pillow back into place. “Maybe we can go to the quarry Tuesday?”

“I’ve got swim practice.”

“Oh . . . right. Of course.” It’s dense, this silence between us. Weighted down by the loss of what made us friends in the first place.

Cory stands and scratches his arm. The chlorine makes our skin chronically dry. Honestly, I don’t miss it one bit. “Tomorrow?” he asks.

“Summer school.”

“Ah, yeah.” He grabs his wallet off his desk. “Which class are you taking again?”

“Photography.”

“Right, right. Well, that could be good. Maybe you’ll meet someone cool.”

“Yeah, I’m sure it’s the place to be,” I retort.

We head downstairs and out the front door, parting ways on his lawn. Maybe it’s for the best he has plans. Because all I really want to do is crawl back into bed and never, ever come out again.

Three

MY PLAN TO HIDE OUT
between my Jersey cotton sheets lasts only until the next morning. Mom bursts into my room at seven thirty, travel mug of coffee in hand.

“Up.”

“Don’t want to,” I mumble. “Personal day.”

She takes away my covers. “Up,” she says again. “Up or I’ll go get a squirt gun.”

She will, too. So it begins.

Walking into the art studio at the Carson Community Center is like being back in elementary school. The white cinder-block walls are splashed with pastel chalk portraits, and simple crayon drawings done by younger kids are taped on the cupboard doors. The smell of paint permeates the room. And just like the first day at a new school, I don’t recognize a single person. I’m not even sure how that’s possible in a place like Carson, but apparently it’s only the case for me. In the back corner, students are clustered together, animatedly recounting the first few days of summer. I suppose I could join them, make some effort to be social. . . .

I slide into the chair closest to me and pull a pad of paper and pencil from my bag. I start doodling, trying to look busy while I listen to the chatter. A few minutes later a couple girls take the seats to my left.

“. . . grab a salad after, or a gyro,” a pretty blonde is saying. Almost doll-like in the symmetry of her features, she immediately reminds me of Betty from the Archie comics. “Ooh, or maybe pizza.”

“As long as it’s not from that place on Ninth,” her friend replies. “They use weird cheese.” She’s wearing her black hair in a tight knot on the top of her head. Her dark eyes are outlined in darker kohl liner and her lips are stained crimson. She catches me staring at her, and I spin back to the page in front of me.

“True. I think it might be vegan,” the blonde says.

I keep my head down, but the scary dark-haired girl is still watching me. I can feel it. “Hey,” she leans toward me to say. “I’m Gwen. Do you have any gum?”

“Oh, um . . . yes.” I reach into my bag and hold a pack out to her.

“Ugh, bubble gum.”

And yet, she takes a piece anyway.

The blond girl shakes her head, sending a ripple through her hair. She’s dressed head to toe in vintage clothing, and even her ponytail has that original Barbie curl to it. Her small, Cupid’s-bow mouth transforms into a warm smile. “Don’t mind Gwen, she’s just orally fixated. I’m Mackenzie.”

“Harper.”

They exchange a look. “Do you go to Carson High?” Mackenzie asks.

I swallow and nod. These girls don’t even go to my school. I really wish not knowing anybody meant I was safe from them knowing things about me.

It looks like Mackenzie is about to ask a follow-up question, but Gwen jumps in.

“Thanks for the gum. Sorry if I was rude, I just have trouble not blowing bubbles when I chew bubble gum.”

She blows a bubble and pops it in her mouth.
All right, then.

I nod sympathetically, as if I totally know what it’s like to be physically unable to control the urge to blow a bubble.

“So, how long have you been into photography?” Mackenzie asks.

“This is my first class, actually.”

“Oh!” Mackenzie says. “Me too! I was so nervous everyone was going to be super experienced like Gwen.”

“For the millionth time, photography is not genetic,” Gwen says. “My mom’s a freelance photographer,” she adds to me with a roll of her dark eyes.

“Wow, that’s really cool.”

Gwen shrugs it off, but I’m getting the distinct impression that most of the people in this room really want to be here.

The instructor, Mr. Harrison, stands at the front of the class and asks everyone to please find their seats. I shift mine so that I’m facing him, but Mackenzie leans across the table toward me, twirling the end of her honey-blond hair around her finger.

“Do you happen to know a guy named—”

“Declan!”

I look at Gwen and then follow her gaze over my shoulder. Declan takes the seat next to mine. My Declan.

He scoots his chair closer. So close that if I reach down to get something out of my bag, my head will hit his shoulder.

I turn back to my notebook. Try to write the date in the upper left corner of the page, but the lead snaps off my mechanical pencil. I click the eraser twice and set the pencil down.

Declan doesn’t say a word. Just sits there staring at me. And now I’m staring back. Class is already starting by the time I finally remember how to speak. “What are you doing here?”

Declan ignores me. Nods hello to Mackenzie and Gwen.

Besides my confusion over how everyone knows each other, or what exactly these girls know about me, the thing I find most disconcerting is that Declan doesn’t seem remotely surprised to see me.

I tear my focus away from his face and turn back to the instructor.

Since it’s an introductory lecture, I don’t get the chance to talk to Declan again until it wraps up.

“Next week we’ll take a field trip to the land conservancy. Please don’t forget to charge your camera batteries!” Mr. Harrison calls out while everyone gathers their stuff.

I put away my things slowly, building the nerve to try again. But when I finally turn toward Declan, he’s already out of his seat.

With his arms wrapped around Mackenzie.

“Declan! I didn’t know you were taking this class!” She gives him an extra squeeze and steps back.

“Kind of a last-minute decision. Someone dropped, so they fit me in.”

My eyes narrow. Cory knew we’d have this class together. He may be sick of playing monkey in the middle, but he will pay for keeping that from me.

Gwen and Declan fist-bump and all three of them start talking about some jazz band I’ve never heard of. Pulling my bag onto my shoulder, I move toward the door.

Declan follows me. “I’ll catch up with you guys later, okay?” I hear from behind me.

“Sure!” Mackenzie says. “Nice meeting you, Harper.”

“You too.” In my attempt to walk backward, I bump into the door frame. I turn around again and grimace, clutching my bag a little tighter. I move through the hall and safely clear the doors to the parking lot, Declan keeping pace with me the whole time.

I scan the rows of cars. Suddenly I can’t remember where I parked. And the only thing I can think to say is that our tree might get cut down, which probably isn’t the best conversation-starter given what happened the last time we were there together.

“So . . . class was interesting, right? Or, you know, less boring than I thought it would be.” I spot my car and take a breath. “What’d you think?”

He turns to me, his face composed. Almost as if we haven’t gone nine months without speaking.

Or as if he didn’t even miss me.

“Wasn’t bad.”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “How do you know Mackenzie and Gwen?”

“We took a drawing workshop together.” He scratches under the collar of his shirt. “Over winter break.”

We reach my car and I lean against the driver’s-side door. It’s warm to the touch and coated in a fresh layer of the yellow pollen that’s everywhere this time of year. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten so into art.”

“You didn’t ask. Believe it or not, there are a few things you don’t know about me.”

I rock myself upright and open my car door. A burst of thick, hot air greets me, and I look back at him with as much poise as possible. “I guess there are.”

He gives me a small wave with his notebook and steps back.

“Declan, wait.” Goddammit.

It’s out of my mouth now, and with it comes an expectation. One I don’t actually know how to fulfill. I should say something meaningful here, something that will close some measure of the distance between us. The way his hazel eyes are set on mine, it feels like he would wait a lifetime to hear the right thing.

“Welcome home.”

If he’s disappointed, he’s careful not to let it show. But something, maybe curiosity, pulls his mouth to one side. And for that one moment I’m just me and he’s just Declan. The boy I grew up with. My best friend.

But too soon the moment passes and he’s gone. And all I’m left with is an aching void where all the imaginary reunions I’d carefully planned over the past nine months used to be.

Four

WE WERE FIFTEEN WHEN DECLAN’S
Mom died. Cory, Declan, and I all had the same biology class, and on that winter day sophomore year, we spent the hour burning peanuts and calculating their calories. I was so wrapped up in the lab assignment, in the novelty of being trusted with matches inside a classroom, I barely noticed when the school counselor came in to get Declan. But then he didn’t show up for lunch or the bus ride home, and I started to worry. Cory told me I was overreacting, that Declan probably just had a doctor appointment.

But we both knew he was wrong once we stepped off the bus onto the slushy curb and found Mom and Bridget waiting for us. Cory and I sat side by side on his living room sofa as Bridget told us how the other driver was drunk and the roads were icy and Natalie’s car spun and spun until the guardrail stopped her. My eyes traced the argyle pattern of Cory’s wool socks. Watched as he flexed his feet against the floor and pushed his back into the cushion, bracing himself a moment too late. Then I stood, thinking if I could just see Declan, he would tell me they had it wrong. Natalie couldn’t be dead.

I took one unsteady step toward the door, and Mom’s arms trapped me. Holding me tight against her, she matched me sob for sob. I covered my mouth with my sleeve and my mind spun with thoughts of
Declan-Natalie-Natalie-Declan
. My body forced me to keep breathing even though Natalie couldn’t, and with each inhale I choked on the scent of burned peanuts saturating my sweater.

The next time we saw Declan was at the funeral.

From my place next to Cory and our parents, I never took my eyes off him. It was the grayest morning I can remember, the kind of gray that makes your bones cold and your heart brittle. I clutched my winter coat around my waist and listened as one person after another tried to warm up the chapel by sharing stories about Natalie Scott’s kindness and humor and the ways she made each of our lives richer. Declan sat stone still until it was Bridget’s turn to speak.

His shoulders began to tremble and it was the most terrifying moment of my life, watching helplessly as my best friend was dashed to pieces, knowing that for the first time Cory and I might not be enough to hold him together.

When it was over, I hugged him as hard as I could. Whispered in his ear that we’d be okay, we’d get through it. He grabbed my hand and didn’t let go for hours.

BOOK: The Year We Fell Apart
13.82Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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